The smoke of your burnt offspring will wind
Peacefully toward the skies
Only if you bear in mind
That when you go toward the sun,
Your dark shadow is behind.
A silent slave who the grim lord
Summons with a silent gesture,
He takes heed, humble and awed,
Of the slightest beckoning,
And keeps track of everything.
He's your devoted slave when your flight
Is directed to the sun;
He doesn't feel pain, he's out of sight;
Your forehead is surrounded by holy rays,
And you advance in light.
But your shadow counsels ill
When you leave the sun behind;
He will cloud your eyes until
Your keen sight become purblind—
He is nothing but ill-will!
Shadow, sun, shrine, smoke, and glow!
My story is no good, unless
You have understood it. So—
You may decide! You are just starting out;
I have been long on the go.